


destination: moon

by mzyz



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Driving, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Insomnia, Kuroo Tetsurou is a Dork, Light Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-09
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-10 23:30:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12310164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mzyz/pseuds/mzyz
Summary: Tsukishima Kei has insomnia and stares at the cracks in his ceiling for hours on end and would prefer to be doing anything else.Kuroo Tetsurou works the overnight shift at the local supermarket and would much rather be out partying or sleeping.Maybe the two of them can be enough for each other.





	1. Chapter 1

There are cracks in Tsukishima Kei's ceiling.

He doesn't know when his ceiling cracked or how it cracked or why there were cracks but he found out that they were there. And that they were one of the most interesting parts of his ceiling. Staring at the fan, whirring endlessly, was boring. After watching it for two, maybe three, hours he couldn't take the boredom he feels from watching it. Then, he found the cracks. They start from the very edge of the ceiling, right where the door is, and travel a few feet towards him. They zig-zag and stick out in sharp contrast to the ceiling's white paint.

He decides he likes staring at them much more than the overhead fan. There was more sense of mystery that they held. He can busy his mind by questioning their origins. He already knows exactly how the fan got there. He had seen someone install it two months ago, when they had bought the apartment, there was no mystery there. But the cracks held their own sense of wonder. They were unanswered questions.

As he lies in bed, staring deeply into the cracks, he hears the sounds of car motors, puttering and breathing, outside his window. This isn't something he could normally hear in the daytime, but the moon heightens his senses. He felt as though he can hear a pin drop on the other side of the world as long as it was dark out. He wonders, vaguely, who was driving at this hour. If they were drunk or coming back from a party. Perhaps they worked a night shift or were working on a paper in the library that droned into the late hours.

He's bitterly jealous of the people who had things to do at 3...(he checked the bright red numbers that flashed on his bedside)...3:41 am. He finds it rather pathetic, being awake at such a time and just staring at the cracks in his ceiling and listening to the motors of other people's cars. He wildly wishes he has something to do, some job or something to work on. Maybe then he can justify being up this late.

His phone is silent, as it usually is, but he wants it to buzz. That thought made him scoff at himself because _how lame must one be to_ want _someone to text you._ He so desperately wants a distraction because cracks, though interesting, aren't enough to placate his buzzing brain. He wishes his mind and his thoughts could just shut the fuck up so he might be able to catch a few hours of sleep before being rudely awakened by the blaring alarm he had set but he knows any hope of slumber is in vain.

Vain thoughts of sleep have been his reality for quite some time now. His insomniac periods would come and go but lately, staring at his ceiling was more reality than not. _What has it been_ , he thinks to himself, _two days since I've slept? Two and a half?_

Finally, he sits up. He sat up too quickly, though, and his vision swims. It takes him a second to recover from the sudden vertigo that snatched him and he swings his long legs over the side of his bed and stretches out his tired arms. An action that should be done when the sun is peaking through the sheer curtains but, for Tsukishima, it's done when the moon has barely dipped in the sky.

The hardwood floor is freezing beneath his bare feet and when his toes touch the ground, a soft shiver run up his spine. He reaches towards his nose to straighten his glasses before he stands. He tiptoes out of the room, knowing that the floor squeaks easily and he doesn't want to disturb Yamaguchi. He knows that sleep was a virtue now and, as bitter as he was to not get it, he wasn't about to take it away from someone else.

The moonlight streams into their kitchen from the window that Tsukishima and Yamaguchi never bothered to put curtains on. The light seems to be almost fuzzy and only adds to the surrealness of Tsukishima's insomnia. His footsteps are light and he almost reaches out towards the moonlight that casts against their shiny refrigerator but he stops himself. He always scoffs at his own actions, he hates himself for not being able to sleep. Or, at least, he thinks he does. He's not very in touch with his emotions in general but when it's almost 4 in the morning, all sense of his own feelings are gone. He is an unconscious man, stumbling through his apartment.

When he opens the refrigerator, the light hits him very suddenly (even though he braced himself) and he winces at the assault on his eyes. When he adjusts, he peeks into the fridge and wonders what he can eat (and if he even wants to eat but doing something is better than staring at the cracks in his ceiling). He reaches into the fruit box and grabs a few strawberries. He washes them and eats them and wonders, foolishly, if he can grab 2 hours of sleep to help him through his 7am lecture.

In the back of his mind, he knows there's no chance he'll sleep. He knows that, most likely, he won't sleep for another day before this insomniac period passes but it's good to hope. Hoping for sleep is one of the constants that keeps him from going crazy at 3-going-on-4 in the morning when all he can do is stare at cracks, eat strawberries and listen to car motors putter down the street.

* * *

 

"Good morning," Yamaguchi's voice is too cheery for Tsukishima's tastes. He knows he has no one to blame for that but himself but his head is pounding from his lack of rest and the entire world seems to be annoying him.

"Morning," Tsukishima mutters from the couch. He had tried to sleep again after his strawberries but, as expected, he couldn't. At 5:25 he got so agitated with everything (himself, mostly) that he refused to stay in the suffocating bedroom and had retreated into the living room where Yamaguchi found him, rewatching a documentary about dinosaurs that he's seen at least 100 times.

"Couldn't sleep again?" Yamaguchi asks, voice soft with sympathy.

"I'm fine," Tsukishima says, dismissively. He hates when Yamaguchi felt sympathetic because no amount of sympathy from his best friend could put him to sleep. He knows Yamaguchi just worried about him but, like he had said, the whole world was on a mission to irritate him today.

"Are you sure you want to go to class?" Yamaguchi asks from the kitchen. Tsukishima can barely hear the coffee maker humming over the sound of his own ears ringing but he's happy to hear that sound. Happier than he should have been but coffee was a staple that he doesn't think he could live without. Yamaguchi likes to tease him by calling him a "coffee-addict" but they both know it's true.

"I have to. My professor is strict on attendance. I don't care though, I'm going."

"I just think..." Yamaguchi hesitates because he knows Tsukishima is snappy when he doesn't have any sleep or coffee in his system, "you shouldn't overwork yourself too much. It's been two days, Tsukki, are you sure you shouldn't just stay here and rest? You can email your professor, right?"

"I'm fine," Tsukishima says, tersely. He turns off the TV because the glare from the sunlight was hurting his eyes.

"Here," Yamaguchi replies, wearily, and hands him a big mug of coffee. Tsukishima grabs it from him and slips his palm into the handle. The warmth from the coffee radiates off into the porcelain walls of the mug makes his hand tingle a little bit and he gulps it down.

"Do you have class today?" Tsukishima asks once he downed the cup and is ready for his second.

"Not until noon," Yamaguchi says. Their apartment isn't too far from the campus but Tsukishima knows he should start getting ready soon. He drags himself back into his bedroom and the sight of his tangled bedsheets from where he'd tossed and turned and threw them around made him wince. He flicks on the lights and the fan that he hated looking at lit up the bedroom. Even in the fluorescent lighting, you could almost smell the insomnia.

Every inch of the room yelled "TSUKISHIMA KEI CAN'T SLEEP" from the open, unfinished books that were thrown around of the random stack of clothing that Tsukishima decided to fold at 4am, two nights ago. The way all his pillows were caved in his bed and the sheets were a mess beyond salvation and there was a dead flashlight on his nightstand next to three empty cups of water.

He knows that he had to clean up his mess of a bedroom someday but that was going to be a day when he was armed with sleep any motivation to do so. He tugs on an old pair of jeans that he had worn twice already and threw on an old, worn, purple t-shirt. A black jacket that Akiteru got him for Christmas last year and his headphones, which he knows will do nothing to help his headache but his music was the other staple in his life besides hope of sleep, coffee and his dinosaur documentary.

"Bye, Yamaguchi," he calls, lazily, as he makes his way towards the door. His movements are slow and uncaluclated but he doesn't care. He wanted this day to be over with.

"Bye Tsukki," Yamaguchi waves from the couch where he was nursing his own mug of coffee. Tsukishima heads out into the cold, winter's day and hopes he'd stay alive long enough to get home. Though, he knows, that tonight had little chance of being one where he slept.

* * *

The neon sign that read 24 HR MARKET flickers against the dark sky. The harsh greens and reds seem both discerning and welcoming at the same time. Tsukishima's hands are stuffed in his coat pocket and his nose and mouth have disappeared into the folds of his scarf. He's still unsure if he even wants to go in and face potential human contact, something that he rarely wanted even when he was running on a full night's sleep.

The bitter winter cold nips at the uncovered parts of his face and he's standing in front of the store, shaking in his boots and wishing he could be anywhere but here. Though he knew that going home is not an option right now. The cracks in his ceiling had gotten boring very fast and the mystery that once shrouded them was no longer of any interest to Tsukishima's muddled mind. He didn't care why they were there and when they got there anymore. The ceiling fan was even older to him and the four walls of his bedroom felt as though they were closing in on him. He truly believed his bedroom was going to squeeze his lungs until he couldn't breathe--so he left.

He's starting to think that leaving was also not a good idea and that he's just eternally surrounded by bad ideas and contradictions. When he was in his room, all he wanted was to leave. And now, in the open, cold outside, he feels himself starting to beg for the familiarity of his bedroom.

He brings his wrist to his eyes and groans at the time that blinked back at him. 4:37. _Truly_ , he thinks, sardonically, _a wonderful time to be awake._

He heaves a sigh that brings out condensation in the moist air and walks towards the market. Pushing the door in, he's greeted with a blast of warm air and the low hums of the radio that fills the store. The overhead lighting attacks his eyes that had shifted into their dark preferences and he pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, blinking rapidly.

Unsurprisingly, there's no one in the store besides the person behind the cash register. He's leaning back, his chair tipping meticulously and his feet are crossed and resting lazily on the counter. Tsukishima decides, rather quickly, to avoid all eye contact and roam the desolate isles.

He doesn't have anything to buy, in particular, but now that he's calmed down, being in a 24-hour grocery store is much better than staring at cracks in your ceiling.

His finger trails along boxes of flour and packages of instant ramen. He stares, dull eyes boring holes in packages, at labels and reads the nutritional value. He knows how pathetic is it that reading the backs of food items is more interesting than all the books in his bedroom but he supposes that it's just something he's going to have to get used to; busying his angry mind with mundane tasks.

The heater in the store is on full blast and Tsukishima tugs his scarf off his neck as he wonders how the cashier can bear this much heat.

There's a clock right next to the CCTV that follows his every move and it reads 5:01. Tsukishima grimaces at the time and just how long he's been scanning the shelves and reading the sodium counts. He, absentmindedly, grabs a packet of fruit-shaped gummies and goes to pay. He's an asshole but not so much so that he comes into a store, browses for 20 minutes and doesn't buy anything.

"Late night snack?" the cashier purrs. Tsukishima looks up and golden, cat-like eyes greet his own. He has messy black hair that flops over his forehead and sticks up in other places. It would look hideous on anyone else but...this guy makes it look okay.

"Something like that," Tsukishima mutters, breaking the stare in exchange for a view of his shoes. He feels antsy and out of place.

The cash register beeps and Tsukishima digs out 200 yen from his pocket. It jingles when his hand dips in and he can feel a piece of crumpled up paper and some lint along with the smooth, cool metal coins. He hands it to the golden, cat-eyed cashier with tight lips. The cashier smiles, it's easy and mischievous. He eyes Tsukishima up and down before taking the coins and handing him his package of gummies. The plastic crinkles beneath Tsukishima's tight fingers when he takes it.

"Come keep me company again soon, okay?" his voice is a croon and Tsukishima looks away again.

"Whatever..." Tsukishima says, a murmur under his breath but he's sure the cashier heard it. He walks away, heavy footsteps stomping against the red tiles of the store. He wants to look back and see if the cashier is watching him leave or if he still has the smile on his lips but he doesn't. He just pushes the heavy glass door and a gush of cold wind greets him, very suddenly.

* * *

The next night, Tsukishima stares up at the ceiling fan and the cracks but all he can see are flickering, gold eyes that look like they belong to a cat and, to his own shock and surprise, he falls asleep instantly.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> our boy tsukki's got a big fat crush...not that he'll ever admit it

Tsukishima considers himself a lucky person. Mostly because he had been able to sleep with only a few interruptions the whole weeks. His thoughts were a rollercoaster though, fluctuating from calm to high and he couldn't shake the golden eyes from his memories but they always seem to calm down at night. He supposes he should be happy and relish in the fact that he is  _sleeping_. A virtue that he'd never take for granted again but there's something so off to him. Eyes of a cashier should not be the reason he is able to fall asleep, especially those of a person he's only met once. 

Yamaguchi is more than pleased that Tsukishima's sleep schedule is evening out and he doesn't have to wake up to a glossy-eyed, shell of a human anymore. Tsukishima indulges him, as he always does, but the back of his mind reminds him that getting used to this pattern to sleep would be his lethal mistake. He knows that his insomnia isn't going to fade away just because he went to a 24-hour market and that it is a dark shadow looming over him ready to strike...and soon. 

 _Maybe Yamaguchi is right_ , Tsukishima thinks, defeated _, am I really too pessimistic?_

He's lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling once more. This time, there is daylight brightening his room and giving it a warm aura that prickles at Tsukishima's skin. He glances over at the clock watching over him and lets out a half-annoyed and half-demoralized sigh. His class starts in an hour and he's still clad in old pajamas. Though he'd never admit it to anyone but his own mind, he quite liked the feeling of pajamas on a Tuesday morning, fully charged up. His old black shirt that was more gray than black with bits of fuzz falling off of it due to the old age and his green pants decorated with dinosaurs gave him a lethargic, easy feeling that he wouldn't deny made him smile. Only lightly though. 

"Tsukki?" Yamaguchi called from Tsukishima's doorframe. His slender body is pressed to the edge of his door. He is dressed in his winter coat and his hair is tucked into a hat. His backpack is slung over his shoulder and he smiles when he sees the serene scene of Tsukishima playing in front of his eyes. 

"Yeah?" Tsukishma says, sitting up in bed. 

"I'm going now. I should be back around 5, okay?"

"Alright..." Tsukishima replies. 

"Have a good day! You should get ready soon, too."

"Yeah, I know...have a good day."

Yamaguchi sends a beam his way and Tsukishima lays back down. He listens to his best friend's footsteps retreat down the hallway, the large door creak open and slam closed and the house was silent again. Tsukishima was in a good mood that day and he found his good mood created good thoughts. He liked living with Yamaguchi...a lot. He wasn't exactly sure where he'd be without the gentle reminders to get ready, the casual smiles and the coffee without Tsukishima having to ask.

He rolls out of bed and stalks through the apartment, not quite ready to start the day. 

* * *

Tsukishima supposes he could have been more grateful. They said hindsight was 20/20 but Tsukishima thinks that's utter bullshit because hindsight was not going to come through his window and put him to sleep. No, he was alone in the vast maze of his thoughts and lost in the cold, clammy hands of midnight. 

He lets out a strangled groan, grabbing the nearest spare pillow and pulling it over his face. The cool fabric falls against his features and muffles the sounds of anguish and irritation and utter exhaustion. He stays like this for longer than what should be considered normal for other people but less than considered normal for him. The sheets are hotter than they're supposed to be and he feels like he's drowning in  _heat_. 

His glasses are crooked and scrapping, annoyingly, against the bridge of his nose and everything seems out of place. He tries to pacify his buzzing mind with the cracks that he hadn't looked at since the night he went to the market ( _no, don't think about that fucking market_ ) but he knows the cracks won't quiet his thoughts for even a second. 

His brain is whirling like an ancient computer starting up and most of what it's saying is a dizzying array of wistful hopes of sleep and ideas of what to do in the early morning hours. Tsukishima tries to ignore them and just focus on something else, anything else. Maybe he can stare really hard at his fan and it'll bore him to sleep but he can feel a tugging, a magnetic pull, in his body. 

It's almost as if it's whispering into his ear, begging and persuading him to  _just leave. Go outside. See those golden eyes that have captivated you for so long_. He grunts, at what, he isn't exactly sure. It's between the sheer patheticness from his urges and himself. Perhaps, though, it was towards his insomnia. He blinks...once...twice and his eyes were heavy but refused to shut. 

Sitting up, Tsukishima straightens out his glasses and decided to just leave. Cracks and buzzing thoughts were not enough to keep his mind content and, although the winter was far too freezing for his taste, he'd rather feel the blistering nip of cold than the sheer nothingness of his room. He yearned  _feeling_ and he wasn't going to get it, cooped up in a bedroom with irises tracing a slow moving fan and cracks along his ceiling. 

Besides, those cat eyes were haunting him, they whisper nothings every time he closes his eyelids and he would be insatiable until he saw them again. He knows as he tugs on his mittens and scarf,  _he knows_ he's gonna feel the heavy regret of leaving the sanctuary of unfinished books and dirty clothing when he's out in an unfamiliar store with a cashier he knows very little about but he continues to get dressed. 

His clunky snowboots pound the floor and Tsukishima winces when they send creaks through the house. He knows Yamaguchi won't wake up, he never does but the mere prospect of Yamaguchi seeing him and asking why he's leaving their warm apartment in exchange for a 24-hour mart makes him wince. 

He steps out and the frosty winter air grabs him and shakes him so chills shoot through his body. His searching eyes dart through the midnight and he can feel something wet against his skin.  _Snow...?_ he thinks. Looking up, his suspicions are confirmed and a ghost of a smile dances against his rosy lips. He isn't quite sure why he's smiling, he's not particularly fond of snow (or weather, in general) but there's something very...serene about a calm snowfall against a 2:37 am sky. 

He tries to reason that his smile is from the lack of sleep getting to his mind but he lifts his face towards the clouds and let the tiny snowflakes fall onto his cheeks and turns to droplets on his pale skin. 

He decides, in that moment, that he despises his insomnia and he  _hates_ the way his mind stays awake when his body is begging him to sleep but in these fragile moments in between day and night are beautiful in their own right. And, though Tsukishima despises the context of the situation, he has no right to ignore the beauty of the moment. 

* * *

"Oh, you're back," the cashier hums his greeting and Tsukishima takes in the voice. He had almost forgotten it in during his week of sleep. 

"Yeah," is all that tumbles out of Tsukishima's trembling lips. The store was still too warm, just as it had been the previous week and the outside was still too cold and when Tsukishima stumbled in, all he felt was chills. The store is the same, though he didn't expect it to change. The walls were still an ugly shade of deep red that clashed with the brown shelves and blended into the white freezers. 

The aisles were fairly easy to navigate even though the store didn't have a big enough budget to put up overhead signs. The cashier was reading a magazine and he thumbed through the pages far too quickly, making Tsukishima skeptical that he was reading at all. His skepticism was only enhanced at the feeling that glittering eyes were watching him, scanning him, as he walked around the store. 

His dull and droopy eyes gaze at the half-stocked shelves but there must have been something wrong with his sensory receptors because his tired mind can't seem to comprehend what his eyes are telling him. Any brain power he has left is focused on the eyes that  _has to be_ following him. 

 _Maybe I should actually do some grocery shopping here next time_ , Tsukishima thinks as his fingers graze over some tomatoes that sit, idly in the produce bins.  _I'll ask Yamaguchi for a list tomorrow. God, it's so stupid I'm already thinking about coming back tomorrow_. If he wasn't holding vegetables, he would have clenched his clammy fingers into a fist. 

The feeling of being watched over is still looming over him as he continues to wander the market in an almost drunken manner. He can just  _feel_ golden pupils blinking in his direction. His midnight senses are heightened once more and every sense he has is dialed to 100, even in an unfamiliar situation. He isn't sure if he likes it or not. 

He grabs a bag of chips, not even reading the label. Every bone in his body is drying up and making his movements stiff and forced. Even his fingers feel like drying up clay.

"Late night again?" the cashier says when Tsukishima hands him the bag. He sounds far too interested in Tsukishima's situation but he supposes anyone who works in an abandoned grocery store at...(he glances up at the watchful clock that continues stares back down at him, as it always does) 3:12 would find any customer fascinating. 

When Tsukishima replies with tight-lipped silence, he continues to make conversation chug along. "So...what's your deal? Are you a party guy...you don't seem like one, no offense but why are you here? It's 3 in the morning, you know."

Tsukishima looks up, he shoots a glare towards him. "Yes, I'm aware."

"Not much of a talker, are you?" his voice rolls off his tongue so easily. They're smooth, no crunch, and everything he says seems to tumble out with ease. Tsukishima can't tell if he's trying to provoke him, seduce him or was just plain dumb (or desperate) enough that he'd attempt to strike up a conversation with the flirt person that saunters into his late night shift.  _Perhaps it's all of the above_. He does know that his words strike a match in Tsukishima's chest and it feels like it's burning up in his lungs. 

"I guess not," Tsukishima replies, as his eyes track the cashier's long fingers on the counter as they travel around.  

"Here you go," the cashier says, another playful grin. "Have a good night, come again, okay?" 

Tsukishima pushes the door open and lets the cold air rush towards his and smack his face, suddenly. The warmth of the store had left beads of sweat dripping down his forehead and the prickly winter wind felt good. Tsukishima stops, halfway through the threshold and turns his head back. 

His gaze meets the sharp one that stares back at him. They're frozen for more seconds than Tsukishima finds comfortable, then he smiles at Tsukishima. It's unlike the smiles he's shot him before, it feels so genuine that it strikes Tsukishima through his chest and renders him motionless. He stifles an involuntary cough, pressed a sweaty fist to his quivering lips and turns away. He wishes he didn't pull away from the cashier's orbital smile so quickly though because he feels like something has chipped off him when he turns back to face the desolate road. 

He feels dazed as he walks back home like it isn't really  _him_ walking home. That he's somewhere else, though he's not sure where. He's positive there's no oxygen in his brain and he's floating above the road. The crunch of snow beneath his boots is the only sound, only reassurance that he is still on this planet. The sound is comforting, maybe too much so and he listens to it the whole walk back. 

_Left, right. Left, right. Left, right._

The apartment is still when he comes back. He didn't expect anything to have changed but the lack of movement, of sounds, washes over him in a sea of relief. As suffocating as the apartment is, it's a sanctuary of serenity. 

The door to his room was still ajar, from when he escapes in a flustered mess. Tsukishima pushes it open and it lets out a squeaky whine, reminding him to grease it soon. Moonlight spills from the window and the shadows of the snowflakes waltzed on the walls that surround him. He kicks off his boots and throws them in the corner of his bedroom. The snow clumped onto the soles falls off and Tsukishima knows he should clean it up but he lets it melt into the stained wood floors instead. He feels like he's dead on legs that feel like jelly and he topples onto the welcoming bed, still dressed in his winter jacket. 

A tired sigh ripples through his lips and is blocked by the pillow his face is buried in. First, it was those damn golden eyes that shouted amongst his thoughts, now it was the smile that decorated his lips as Tsukishima had turned to leave.  _I don't even know his name_ , Tsukishima thinks _, it's so stupid to be this enamored._

He remembers thinking something else but not before his eyelids fall closed, his breathing deepens and he's asleep. When he wakes up, he can't remember his last thought for the life of him. 

* * *

"It's unfair, you know." Tsukishima looks up, it isn't that he doesn't expect words from the smooth-talking cashier, it's that he doesn't expect _those_ words. He had been coming to the store at least three times a week in a stupor of sleep-deprived boredom and every time, he never failed to fall into the never-ending void of the cashier's irises. Tsukishima finds that he's quick-witted and loved teasing at every opportunity he got. They always exchange at least a few words, inquires about the night or quick remarks about how early it was. He liked every conversation, though, no matter how short of annoying. 

The flash of red erupts from the scanner and shrills out a beep before Tsukishima can reply. 

"What do you mean?"

The cashier's rowdy eyes roll in their sockets and he gives a melodramatic sigh before shoving the bag of groceries in Tsukishima's direction. 

"I mean..you come to the store almost every day but you never talk to me."

"What do you call this, then?" Tsukishima asks, snidely. He is never too tired for the sarcasm that dripped, sticky like honey, from his gravely voice. His insomnia was no match for his bitter remarks. 

The cashier sigh, yet again, then leans over. His elbows pressed against the white counter, littered with magazines and poorly written manga and he puts his chin in his hands. He brings his face closer to Tsukishima and his golden eyes peer up at him. 

"This isn't a  _real_ conversation, ya'know. What's your name?"

"Why should I tell you?" Tsukishima bristles. He finds himself intrigued to see where the cashier would go with this. 

"God, you really are boring," a _tsk_ sound clicks against the cashier's pink lips, "fine. I'll tell you my name first. I'm Kuroo Tetsurou."

"…Tsukishima."

"Tsukishima?"

"Tsukishima."

"Well, that's no fun!" Kuroo whines, a sly grin spreads through the curve of his lips and he leans closer, Tsukishima wonders how his elbows haven't collapsed under the weight of his face. "Tell me your first name."

"Are you this creepy to all your customers?"

A frown shadows over the smile. Then, it puckers into a petulant pout. 

"Whatever, I'll find out what it is eventually."

He hands Tsukishima the change he'd been holding hostage as they suffered through that mess of a conversation. 

"Have a good night," he purrs. 

Tsukishima walks out of the store dizzy. He wonders if it was the lack of sleep making the world twirl around him but he knows it was the words. This Kuroo was intriguing and carefree and said exactly what he wanted to say, whenever he wanted. Tsukishima racked every inch of his brain but couldn't determine if it was endearing or plain irritating. He guessed it was both but he never trusts his mind at 4:19.

He's learned that the hard way, that the later it gets, the more dangerous your thoughts are. The more absurd and self-destructing. The snow from awhile ago has become less mysterious and beautiful and more a pain. It blocks the sidewalk when Tsukishima tries to stumble his way home and the glowing white it once was is only a memory beneath the grayish-brown sludge it has become. Tsukishima feels like scoffing at it every time he sees it. 

He wonders, in the 4-am haze, if all beautiful things turn to gray-brown sludge. He backtracks his mind then because that thought it too dangerous. He wants to think of something else, anything else so he allows his mind to wander towards the thoughts of the cashier who he now knows is Kuroo Tetsurou. He doesn't really  _think_ about him, he pictures him. He only watches his memories as he trudges along the sidewalk, dragging his feet through the old snow.

He doesn't sleep when he gets home, his mind is too awake for that. He watches his dinosaur documentary and spoons old ice cream he had dug up from the corner of their freezer but it doesn't have the same sense of security it had before. It didn't feel like a constant anymore, it felt like a mindless routine. 

"I'm going crazy," he mutters to himself. He tries to remember a time when cracks were a solace and though it's only been a week, that feels like an eternity ago.  

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked the first chapter!  
> i'm gonna try to update this as much as possible but i can't promise haha
> 
> come scream at me on tumblr:  
> @tetskuroo


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